, 1887-02-16

~ ftah. tIaah
there was the hum of the bees, as they
bummed from flower to flower. tlss sweet
perfume of the clover and the wild, glad
notes of the chaffie near his nest in the
larc tree. And-yes. and Jamie's voice.
swceter 10 me than all. Did | love Jamie.
l dinna ken. Jamie never what you
might call made love to me, but l dare
say / did like him a wee bit. Bonnie
black hair had Jamie, blue, blue cen, rosy
dimpled cheeks, u cockit bonnet wi long
strings that futtered DER his back and
shoulders, and such a winsome smile!
No, ho never made love like, but he
would talk for an hour at n time about
his horses and kye, and l used just to
look and laugh and listen.
You may be think I'm dwelling too
long On my younger days and our happy
life at the little farm on the braehead-
but the rest of my story is all 50 sad.
I'm sur enough that neither Johnnie
nor ever gave Il thought for tomorrow.
In this respect we fulfilled the Scriptures
right enough. 1t neve struck us that
our present life would not last till we
closed our eyes for aye and went to sleep
in the moods.
But one wet, rough winters evening,
with the wind moaning in the chimney
and the cold snow and sleet tearing over
the hills and through the woods. father
came home looking wan and queer. No,
no, | cannot dwell on this. That night
he took to his bed, end in spite of the
DOCTORS attention, in spite of the kind
ness of an English lady who was dwell
ing at the big house. he slipt quietly
away II night and joined our mother
in heaven.
What n change! The funeral past and
u broken up home. Everything except
the old eight-day clock, which Grannie
wouldn't part with, sold by roup, Gran
ME herself dwelling in u little hut by the
hillside, and Johnnie a soldier in the gal
liant Forty-twa. And right handsome
did he look in his Highland dress, with
plumes.
And Ia simple servant lassie. For
the kind English lady had taken quite a
fancy 10 me and l was bound for he
south rs her maid. AS the train rolled
away from the station, as l lost sight Of
the woods, and hills and bonnie braes,
what could l do but lean back in a corner
of the carriage and cry-lassie like. Poor
Jamie, tool!
Grief does not break young hearts, and
in my new home at Southsea, everything
was very new indeed, and my heart leapt
up one day with q nameless joy when /
heard that the Forty-second was coming
to Portsmouth.
My mistress was kindness itself, and
consideration, too. She was u lady,
though not rich, and I'm sure would
have bitten her tongue at any time rather
than say a single word to wound the
feelings or hurt the heart of a simple SER
want lassie. All! would that all mis-
tresses were the same! She never him
dered me from going out, and, indeed,
often suggested it. And SO. many were
the walks Johnnie and / had on the
ramparts, and many a talk OF the dear
old times hat even now seemed SO far
away.
And my mistress had always a kind
word and a smile for ME, and talked SO
naturally and so e~ncouragingly that at
any time l believe l would have laid
down my life to save hers. After a few
months of Portsmouth life my mistress
and | started TO spend u few weeks in
France. Johnnie saw us off, and | think
| see the handsome. manly boy yet, with
the sunny smile on his sunburnt face, in
the dark tartan kilt and white spats,
standing there ON the station waving us
good by with his bonnet and plumes.
We were two months away, but re-
turned at last, and the very next morn
ing / went to see for Johnnie.
was rounding the corner Of n street,
when the slow, half muffled sound of
drums fell on my ear, and presently |
could hear the music itself. 1t was II
dirge, a coronach, played by the pipers.
1t wa no ordinary dead march. 1t was the
grand old hymn. Johnnie's song and
mine:
OF come-come-with-me
To-the-auld-Kirk yard.
To every word there was a stroke of
the drum and "a step of the men. And
yonder is t6e coffin and the bonnet and
feathers.
''Who is-d-d-dead?" l cried,
clutchihg the arm of n soldier who stood
near me.
He must have seen l was choking.
He put one arm round my waist kindly
ar he replied;
Poor Jack Mclean. my lass. Are
you ms s~weetheartl
l remember nothing more for weeks,
for all this time I lay raving with brain
fever.
A year had passed away and IA change
had come over my situation in life. For
my dear, kind mistress was obliged to give
up house and go abroad, and I was en-
gagged as general servant to n lady in
Portsmouth
Now / was to know what indeed it
meant to be n simple servant lassie under
a thoughtless and unkind mistress. Per-
haps she did not really mean to be UNI
kind, perhaps she could not help it. l be-
lieve that, hard though her heart un-
doubleday was, she would often have felt
for me could she but have known how
her words used to burn into my feelings.
I'm sure l tried to please her. I'm sure
| did what l could and rs well as / could,
but my whole life soon became a burden
to me. | used to go to my room and,
don't laugh, cry and pray. That helped
mo some-don't forget I'm but a simple
Scottish lassie.
Did my mistress scold? No, not down
right. She nagged. Obi that worrying,
nerve breaking nagging, how much more
mean it is than any scoldingi
When mistress first asked my name
and | told her "Je'nnie," II shall call
you Ann" she replied. II call all my
servants Ann
I'm sure master felt sorry for me, but
he dared say nothing. l believe he was
as much afraid of her as / was, though Il
kindly hearted gentleman he was. He
would come in to thinner happy looking
and singing, and at table begin to talk
and laugh with his pretty pets OF chill